Friday, July 29, 2016

I was destined for stardom.From the age of seven, I was an all-star.Parent’s praised me, coaches worshipped me.As I got older, girls begged for me.I was Beltline’s baseball God, guaranteed to put this small town on the map.Then, after one night, that future vanished.The legend was laid to rest. I gave up my scholarship.I fled from Beltline.I left behind the girl.Now, I’m back.

As a sea of women disperse, a tall figure stands, and my heart hammers against my chest wall, like I’m standing on a wire, high in the sky, between two skyscrapers.

“Cinderella,” he says, his voice shallow, but sure of himself.

“Don’t call me that,” I respond, my feet frozen in place.

“Who is that?” Jen asks from behind me.

“That is Ella’s first love, Crosby Lynch.”

“I thought Liam was her first boyfriend?” Jen questions, her voice slowly fading to background noise.

Crosby breaks the small distance between us, and I swallow the large lump in my throat. My body screams for me to run or to pinch myself out of this dream, but his eyes still mesmerize me into submission.

“No, she and Crosby are destined.”

I hold my hand up in the air to stop Brax from rehashing history.

Crosby is still breathtakingly gorgeous. His dark hair is shorter and messy, and those hazel eyes still hold a glint of the devil in them. The cocky smile plastered on his face as he shoves his hands in his pockets, almost has me jumping in his arms and thanking him for coming back for me. But one question overrides my body.

“How long are you here?” I ask, bitterness lacing my voice.

He tilts his head. “Until graduation.” He glances to Brax. “My guess anyway.”

That cocky smile grows as the lump in my throat shrinks.

Quickly, the room starts spinning, and my breathing becomes more labored. He’s the new baseball player I heard Coach Lipton talking about.

“Oh my God.” My hand lies over my heart, and I close my eyes, trying to find my bearings, but the room continues to spin.

“Get her to the damn couch, Boy Dreamy!” Jen hollers.

Crosby grabs my elbow. His touch is so warm, so comforting, so safe. He guides me to the couch, but instead of setting me down, he places me on his lap. My eyes float around the room. Girls’ eyes are now glowering at me, Brax’s eyes are studying me, and Jen’s eyes show her pure ignorance to how serious tonight just became. As my eyes circle back to Crosby, I see he’s smiling again, his thumb brushing along my hip bone, as though we’d warped back to our senior year of high school.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice snapping me out of the haze.

I fall from my abrupt movement to flee from his lap, but spring up to my feet. “I’m fine. Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” I ramble, fiddling with my hands while tapping my toes. “I mean, you’re here. In Ridgemont. Playing baseball and living in this house.” My vision shoots to Brax. “With Brax. Why would I not be okay?”

I look over to Jen, who’s finding way too much amusement in my predicament.

“Man, whoever you are, you’ve unglued Miss Perfect, and I love it.” She smiles wide at Crosby and then places her hand out in front of him. “I’m Jen, this crazy girl’s roommate.”

She turns to me as I swallow down my anxiety, glaring at a still shirtless Brax. Maybe he could have been more specific at the door. Then again, who am I kidding. I’d give up my envied internship for a chance to see Crosby.

“You need to dump the fucktard and take this man up on his offer.” She thumbs toward Crosby.

I throw my hands up in the air.

“You have a boyfriend?” Crosby’s voice is low and has lost the confidence it held moments ago.

My fidgeting stops, and our eyes lock. Hurt floods out of his eyes and most likely mine as well.

“I need a drink.” I spin around, knocking into a dancing couple. I straighten myself and determinedly head toward the kitchen.

“A boyfriend?” His deep voice rings out above the music.

I grab a cup and start filling it up with beer.

The room quiets, and all eyes are on him. It’s like déjà vu. Eyes have always lingered on Crosby, his whole life, when he was the star baseball player in high school and even when he wasn’t. His charismatic personality mixed with his talent give him a presence in any room.

The damn tap is only pouring foam, and in frustration, I smack it on the pile of ice, dumping the Solo cup on top of it.

His strong hand picks up the cup, and he grabs the spout. The muscles in his forearm flex while he’s pumping the tap. Unable to gain the composure I need to look at him, I stare down at his hand pouring me the perfect beer.

Our fingers brush in the exchange of the cup, and my whole body tingles, aware that my first love is back. Needing to brace myself, I lean against the wall, acting nonchalant by bringing the cup to my lips.

Even if this isn’t my typical college night, I sure as hell need to act like I’m not facing the only guy to make my heart ricochet against my chest wall.

“I’m sorry. I have no right to be angry,” he says, standing to my right with his back to the wall.

“You left me,” I whisper, relieved that the noise level has picked back up. I’m not even sure I want him to hear my admission.

His arm is no longer pressed to my shoulder, and I calculate he’s moving. Then, his shoes come into my view of the floor.

“What are you talking about? We left each other. That was the point.” He rolls back on his heels.

“You’re right. That was the point. Why are you here?” We made a pact, an agreement, that we would not contact one another.

“Can we please go somewhere else to talk?” he whispers back.

His hand reaches out, and I sway forward. My body heats up, the closer his hand grows to my cheek. He’s a millimeter away when he retracts, only igniting a burning in my flesh for his touch.

“Yeah.”

He nods his head in the direction of the living room but says nothing. When he heads toward the staircase, I stop walking.

“Not upstairs.”

He halts on the first step and peers around to find somewhere else. There are bodies everywhere, each corner already occupied with a couple or a cluster of girls. The house is not an option, and I wish the hope of being alone with him wasn’t so prevalent.

“Walk?” he asks.

I nod and down my beer, needing something to numb the pain in my body.

As we leave the baseball house, the situation is eerily similar to two years ago—when we intentionally hurt each other.

Author Bio

Michelle moved around the Midwest most of her life, transferring from school to school before settling down in the outskirts of Chicago ten years ago, where she now resides with her husband and two kids. She developed a love of reading at a young age, which helped lay the foundation for her passion to write. With the encouragement of her family, she finally sat down and wrote one of the many stories that have been floating around in her head. When she isn’t reading or writing, she can be found playing with her kids, talking to her mom on the phone, or hanging out with her family and friends. But after chasing around two kindergarteners all day, she always cherishes her relaxation time after putting the kids to bed.

I’m the popular girl at school. The one everyone wants to be friends with. I have the best boyfriend in the world, who’s on the basketball team. My parents adore me, and I absolutely love them. My sister and I have a great relationship too. I’m a cheerleader, I have a high GPA and I’m liked even by the teachers. It was a night which promised to be filled with love and fun until…something happened which changed everything.

Dragging myself out of the gymnasium and down the hall, I try and get to the side double-doors. But with no one here to help me, it's difficult. I need to sit for a moment out on the steps leading to the back field and gather myself.

My legs become heavier as I get to the doors. The cyclone happening inside my head is growing thicker while my vision is so unclear I can barely make out any objects.

Stumbling down the first step, I barely recognize where I am.

“What’s happening?” I think I say.

There’s a cacophony of dense sounds; a combination of white noise, mumbling, and a beat which doesn’t make sense.

My eyes are now so heavy I can barely open them and my legs are completely weighted as I attempt to make my way down the stairs. I think I’m going to pass out.

Author Bio

There's something about the written word that is pure magic.

Possibly it's the fact there are 26 letters in the English alphabet, and they can create something so beautiful or so empowering they're capable to change our lives.

How important is it that we break suit and stretch our minds?

I like to think of myself as 'unique'. My stories aren't for everyone, and sometimes I may push what you believe to be 'normal'.

Normal is subjective.

I prefer to be known as a person who's never been 'bound by custom' but is 'unique by choice'.

She was the
one for me.The one that
I knew would be mine forever until I made the biggest mistake. I pushed her
away and I’ve regretted that decision ever since. I’ve tried to move on, tried
to put the memory of her behind me, but she’s always consuming my thoughts.
Now, she’s back in our hometown, trying to rebuild a new life. I know she’s
keeping secrets. She tries to hide them from me, and I will do whatever it
takes to prove that I’m the one she needs. Because Shelby Ross is the other
part of me that I can’t live without and I refuse to let her go again.

Shelby

He broke my
heart.

I never thought I would be able to pick up the
pieces he left behind. When he let me go, I ran away from it all, thinking it
was the easiest thing to do. But, running has a price and I’ve paid it in full
for years. Now, I’m back where it all began, back to putting my life together
and starting over. It should’ve been easy, but Carter Harlow is reawakening
long buried emotions that I thought were gone. He wants to make me his again. I
can’t let that happen. He ruined me, broke me, and I’m afraid I’ll never
survive it a second time around.

We lived in the same small town where you couldn’t go anywhere without seeing a familiar and friendly face. I was five years old and he was six. I remember that day, perfectly. We were at school, playing outside during recess. The school year was almost up, and it was a hot sunny day. The kids in my class played chase, or were in the sandbox making sandcastles. I was sitting on the swing, in my own little world. I didn’t know how to swing yet without someone pushing me. My legs dangled, and I kicked the pebbled rocks with the tip of my shoes. I watched the other kids playing, seeing they all had a playmate. It made me sad and envious that I didn’t have that. All I wanted was someone to push me on the swing. I didn’t have any friends back then, and maybe Carter knew what a lonely little girl I was.

Looking back, I didn’t understand why my Mom didn’t want anything to do with me, or why my Dad always smelled funny. But, Carter didn’t make fun of my dirty clothes, or say anything about how I hadn’t bathed in a week. He walked right up to me, touched my hand holding tightly onto the chain of the swing, and looked right at me.

“I’m Carter. What’s your name?”

I squinted my eyes at him, wondering if he was about to comment on why I was alone. Most kids made fun of me because I didn’t have any friends. They would tease me relentlessly, but it seemed like Carter wasn’t like the other kids at school. “Shelby.”

He stared at me for a moment, then asked, “Can I push you?” I smiled brightly and nodded eagerly. All I wanted was a friend, someone to play with me. Carter took his hand off mine, and walked behind me. He grabbed a hold of the chains, and began to push me. I remembered laughing loudly, loving how high he pushed me. I also remembered holding on tightly to the chains, and looking around the playground at the other kids. They didn’t pay us any mind, and I told Carter to push me higher and higher. He did as I asked, laughing right along with me. I finally had someone to play with, and I felt happy. For the first time in my life, I felt just like all the other kids. I felt normal. I remembered how in just a short amount of time, I felt accepted.

When the bell rang for us to go back inside, Carter slowed me down, and helped me off the swing. He held my hand as we walked back into the building, and I started to dread him letting my hand go, and heading back to his class. I didn’t want him to leave me. “Don’t worry, Shelby. I’ll see you after school.” He told me once we stopped at my classroom. I grinned, and nodded at his promise. That one simple promise meant the world to me, and even if I didn’t have any friends in my class, I knew I gained a new friend with Carter. When he met me right outside my classroom at the end of the day, I knew at the tender age of five, Carter would always keep his promises. Even though we’d just met, we shared a bond, something special.

Thinking about it now, I was way too young to understand the connection we had. There was just something about that sweet, young boy. He quickly became my best friend, and there was hardly any moments when we weren’t together.

Now that I’m older, I still don’t understand the connection we had back then. Even when Carter and his family opened their arms and home to me when I needed them the most. I still didn’t understand why he wanted to be around me. No one else in my family cared anything about me, and it was inevitable for me to fall head over heels in love with him. It didn’t happen suddenly. It happened slowly over the years, slowly changing our relationship into something I couldn’t live without. There are so many things I still look back on, and I try to figure out why Carter and I were so drawn together. Why, after everything we went through, he could just … let me go. I thought what Carter and I had was special, one of a kind. But, everything changed once Carter left for college.

When Carter Harlow broke my heart, I did what I knew best.

I ran.

Author Bio

Brie Paisley is a small
town gal from Mississippi. She always wanted to write at a young age and was
always filling journals with her thoughts and short stories. Brie started with
the idea of Worshipped a year ago and with the encouragement of her husband and
sister in law, she was able to write her first book. When she is not writing,
you can find her reading a good book, painting, scrapbooking, or watching a
good movie with her husband and her boxer.

Nashoda Rose is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Toronto with her assortment of pets. She writes contemporary romance with a splash of darkness, or maybe it’s a tidal wave.

When she isn't writing, she can be found sitting in a field reading with her dogs at her side while her horses graze nearby. She loves interacting with her readers and chatting about her addiction—books.

A bond forms when all they have is each other and a fight for survival on their hands.

Their story is one of friendship, danger, secrets and terrifying truths. For the first time ever, the Masterpiece Trilogy is bundled up in one boxed set. A Masterpiece Of Our Love, A Masterpiece Unraveled, and A Forever Masterpiece are full of twists, turns, suspense, and a love like no other.

I'm an avid lover of books. I've been writing as far back as I can remember, completing my first "book" by fifth grade in one of those one subject spiral notebooks. I have a passion for music, photography, jewelry and all things creative. I live in Arizona with my husband and son, but dream of being somewhere much colder and stormier. For now, I'll have to live that life through my characters and stick it out with the summer heat.